


Under These Broken City Skies

by frankierospants



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 17:50:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankierospants/pseuds/frankierospants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank meets Gerard under awkward and uncomfortable circumstances, but Frank is quick to run in the opposite direction. Will Gerard be a savior or just like the rest of them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part !

With every step I took towards the exit, the bitter winter air restricted my lungs and froze my nose a little more. As I reach the door at the exit of the mall, a can't help but to notice an eerie set of eyes lock into me like I was free game. I brushed off the feeling of danger I just felt whip through me, and planted my feet firmly on the yellow line of the New Jersey lightrail, and awaited the arrival of my train. As the engine drew near, I stepped inside, and I couldn't help but sigh at the sudden warmth that enveloped me so suddenly like the softest plush blanket around the soft skin of a newborn. With my knapsack tied securely to my back, and my eyes gazing firmly out the window, I tried my very best to keep myself from looking around too much. There were always the same people on these transports; you had the homeless who always fall asleep on the two back seats and get shuffled out by the cops every so often, the crack head swaggots who don't have the common decency to buy a pair of headphones so the rest of us don't have to suffer through a commute filled with poison for our ears, you have the families who don't have a car (who I can't help but feel bad for because I would never want to put my children through this agony), and lastly you have the business men who throw dirty looks like Houdini throws cards.  
After a few years of experience, I've come to realize the best approach to avoid trouble is to not acknowledge it is there. I watch as the industrial building and naked trees fly by my window in blurs of brown and gray when my incredible stamina is broken.   
"Hey, cholò! What you got planned for later, baby?" And there it was. No matter how hard I try, my bad luck always catches up with me. I don't reply, but as soon as I estimate he lost interest, I glance his way. He doesn't notice when I look over and recognize those same eyes from the hall.   
I'm not exactly sure what to do in a situation like this. Do I get out at the stop that I was planning on ( really it's the last stop before you start hitting Newark and I don't think that is where I want to face the cold)? Or do I wait on the train and see if this fucker gets off before me?   
There's not really much time to think before the transport a reaches to a stop and my feet are carrying me back out to the unenclosed area. Although I can't see him, I can feel the man's eyes on me. The spiders under my skin morph into butterflies in my stomach.   
"Hey Cholò! Wait up! I needa talk to ya, babe!" Oh shit. I swear its my fucking fate to be in the worst place at the worst time at all points in my life. I hear the steps of the man behind me grow nearer, heavier, louder. That is when I make my decision to just fuck it and run. I'd rather die of my lungs collapsing than getting raped by a sick pervert.   
Another set of steps can be heard behind me and I kind of want to cry. Yeah, one fourteen year old boy against two old ass men who want to fuck me in the ass. I know I'm screwed when the cold hand grabs my shoulder. The man (I don't recognize this one) turns to face the other. He pulls me behind his back and delivers the sickest left hook I have ever seen.  
Panting, he turns to me, "Fuck, are you okay? Did that fucker so much as lay a hand on you? Because I swear on Kurt Cobain's grave...." He clenches his fist then changes his expression almost instantly when he realized he has a petrified teenager in front of him.   
He pushes his dark black hair from his eyes( which oh my god were the most stunning set of lookers I have ever seen) takes a deep breath and replaces his fist with a hand on my shoulder yet again. He extends his other hand, " Hi. Are you alright? I'm Gerard." With a concerned but sheepish grin.  
"Frank."


	2. Part II

He awkwardly gripped my hand. We shook, but as I went to pull away, his hand still was firmly attached to mine. We stayed there like that for a few moments, until he finally muttered a small, 'oh', and his arm reserved it's rightful place in his pocket.   
We stood there in that blissfully awkward silence. I would glance at him to find his eyes at mine, but they would quickly scurry back to his own shoes. The old, Jersey, street lamps drenched us in beams of bright piss. They would occasionally blink out momentarily, only to redeem its ugly glow no more then a second later. With the moon stalking us from above, and the stars chatting gleefully about the current events, I grew bashful, and wow, this really was awkward.  
"So yeah, thanks, I guess? You probably need to get going..." I started to turn and walk away, " Thanks again. I guess I'll see-" the force of the hand on my shoulder pulled me back around. I must've looked really freaked out because this ma-Gerard, apologized almost immediately.   
"Do you need a lift? I'm really not in a rush. My car is right down the street." Gerard pivoted his body towards a little black sports car down the street. I couldn't help but stare. I remember my brother showing me pictures of these kinds of cars. The elegant curves were greater then those of a grown woman, and the unscratched finish was shinier then Timmy Turners teeth.   
".....hey kid!...uhm, Frank? Helloooooo?" I snapped out if the trance.   
"Oh, sorry, no. Really I don't have to go that far.." I started, but the businessman cut me off, "Nonsense. It's really late and dark, I don't want you walking home alone. Here," he pulled an iPhone out of his pocket,"call your mother. Tell her you'll be home in a few. You do live around here right?"   
"Really, my feet work!" I went to walk away, but as those all too familiar set of fingers gripped my shoulders yet again, I ran.   
"Thank you Gerard!" I called behind me. "Frank, wait!" the footsteps slowly faded behind me.  
I had no idea where I was going to go. There was no going back now. My feet carried me effortlessly to a nearby park, and as I sat on the swing and looked up to the sky, those eyes couldn't escape my mind. Those stern, but caring eyes, those golden eyes that shined under the old New Jersey street lights that made everything else look like piss.  
But I had nowhere to go..


	3. Part III

With his covers just short of his chin, Gerard laid with his eyes tracing the patterns of the ceiling. His head was filled to the brim, almost bursting with the stress of work - honest to God he loved his job but it could get overwhelming sometimes - but now, worry was practically oozing out of his ears. His head was pulsating probably to the beat of the music he would usually be listening to right now if he could even handle that. Something in the back of his head was telling him to forget about that kid, that it was just trouble that he needn't get himself into, but more towards the front - not the part that nags him to do the dishes or mop the floor, but the part that tells him that he just has to pet the sad looking dog waiting for its owner or flip the turtle right side up again - would not let him get this out of his mind.

There was something not right there, the way he ran off, his expression when Gerard pulled out his phone.

The part in the back if his head that he would really like to listen to is telling him that his mother just told him not to talk to strangers, but the front part just wouldn't shut up that that was not the case.

Gerard couldn't sleep with thoughts hanging over his head like this. He pulled off the covers and left his dark bedroom and headed toward the kitchen to make him some liquid stress relief and maybe pop a poison or two.

It took a moment for Gerard to adjust to the bright neon lights if the kitchen (he's not sure if he regrets buying those energy efficient light bulbs, though, his mother said they were really worth it), but a few blinks later, a press of a button and a pop of a bottle later Gerard sat at the small marble kitchen table. He threw the Aspirins at the back of his throat and gulped back the decaf and put his head down.

He let the coolness of the rock shock his skin in contrast to the toasty house in the cool November. The sweat the was racing down his forehead previously came to a slow halt, and Gerard reached for his phone.

It rang only 3 times before his friend picked up.

"Hey Gerard! You usually head in so early. What's got you up so late?"

Gerard explained to Ray about why sleep was not coming easy to him, and Ray told him that he's probably just overreacting, that the kid probably just snuck out to see his girlfriend or hot a gig that his parents did not approve of, and that he was just threatening his plans or bringing him to getting caught. Gerard agreed and dubbed his goodnight.

Gerard tossed and turned, restlessly crawling through the night.

The back part if his head was telling him that Ray was right, but the more prominent part was telling him that it was far worse than he thought.


End file.
